


The Pillow Thief

by CrookedBarbarian



Category: House of Cards (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-10 21:06:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10447509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrookedBarbarian/pseuds/CrookedBarbarian
Summary: -That first year, we had the mattress on the floor and those lumpy pillows.-Which you used to steal from me in the middle of the night.-Because you would hog all the covers.-God, we were living like heathens.





	

In the warm morning sunlight, Frank stretched languidly, generally contented with life. Of course, yet again, he had no pillow, but that was rectified easily enough. After all, that was what wives were for, right?  He'd felt his pillow yanked unceremoniously out from under his head as he fell asleep last night, right before Claire had turned over to press herself against him, shoulder to toes. 

Reaching for his pillow-stealing wife, he pulled her close and nudged her shoulder until she turned over onto her back, and preceded to slip his head in the indent of her shoulder. Her arm came around him and her nose crinkled in half-sleep. God, she was cold… Until she reached over without opening her eyes and yanked half the blanket over herself. At which point Frank realised he'd been wrapped in the whole thing. Guiltily, he kissed her neck.

"You stole my pillow, Claire," he groused. 

"You stole my blankets," she threw back primly. "I've been cold all night."

"Well, you're not going to be cold now?"

"Not with you and a blanket."

"We need a bed."

"After you win."

"You're trying to incentivise me?"

"I don't need to." He kissed her neck again; she liked that.

"So we're sleeping practically on the floor until then?"

"Until we can afford to sleep somewhere else."

"Well, I'll just sleep on top of you, then, right here." His arm slipped around her waist. 

"As long as you fuck me and share the blanket, you can sleep wherever you please."

"And the election?" he floated, his mouth going to her shoulder.

"If I had to worry about the election, Francis, I wouldn't have married you."

Smirking proudly, he kissed his way down to suck lightly on the top of her breast. 

"I still want my pillow back. Even if the damn things are lumpy as hell. They feel like sleeping on a camel." 

Sitting up, he yanked the one out from under her head and migrated back to the other side of the mattress. Claire reached for the other one and slid it under her head, shooting him a peeved glare. 

"I'll hurt you if you take the blankets again."

"I know." Frank tried to stifle the laughter, but had to turn his head into the lumpy mass to muffle the sound. "I think they just stuck the whole damn birds in here."

"I think they used pigeons. They're on a budget, you know." At that, Frank started laughing so hard, his empty lungs burned and his sides ached, and he was vaguely aware of Claire joining his fit of early-morning hysteria.

"We really need to get off this damn floor and get a bed," he managed breathlessly. 

"Yes we do." 

Turning over, his wife vindictively yanked the blanket off him as she shifted back onto her side, away from him. 

"I'll win by landslide."

"You damn well better. I want pillows that _don't_ feel like I'm sleeping on dead birds." 

She heard him snort and couldn't help a smile of her own. As she drifted back to sleep, she felt Francis slip under the blanket and curl himself around her, cocooning them both. It wasn't so bad, this marriage thing.


End file.
